Shadows West
by sakuuya
Summary: AU. Oklahoma Territory, 1879: A young woman is brutally attacked, a handsome doctor nurses her back to health, and together, the two ride out to hunt down her assailant. Zakuro/Ryou, written for mew-serene's contest.
1. The Valley

**Shadows West**

**Chapter 1: The Valley of the Shadow of Death**

This story was written for **mew-serene's Zakuro contest**. I was hoping to have the second chapter written before I posted this one, but since I'm cutting it pretty close with the initial entering deadline, I figured I should get this up while I can.

**Cultural and historical notes (that you can skip if you don't care):** Vinita is a real town in Oklahoma, and it was the first place in the state to get electricity, though that most likely happened well after this fic took place. On the other hand, I doubt Vinita had a freak genius like Ryou/Elliot living there in real life; he could probably electrify a town if he wanted to. All the blood transfusion nonsense (and it's utter nonsense, though I guess no more so than the TMM canon is) is because DNA wasn't really understood yet, so there's no possibility of genetic engineering. "Plainflower" is a corruption of "wisteria plain"—itself the English translation of "Fujiwara"—used because wisteria is not native to the southwestern U.S. "Xiàn Bǐng" is just Chinese for "pie," and "Celestial" is the period-appropriate term for a Chinese person. Zakuro/Renée's appearance is modeled on a DC Comics character, Tallulah Black.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters mentioned herein. The title of this fic comes from a pretty terrible DC comic, and the chapter title is, of course, from Psalms.

* * *

Renée Plainflower looked over her shoulder whenever she heard the slightest noise, and pulled her coat closer around her to stop herself shivering. She was jumpy; that was all: her business in town had taken much longer than she'd anticipated, and she wasn't relishing the long walk home in the dark. That was all.

As she passed through the small cluster of darkened buildings that made up downtown Vinita, she unslung her hunting rifle from her back. She couldn't see far enough in the nearly moonless night for it to be much use as a gun, but it was a passable club, and it made her feel safer.

All of a sudden, the world went quiet. Even in the dead of winter, there was always a little bit of noise, even if it was just the cold wind rattling through some shoddy old building. But now, it seemed as though all sound had been drained from the world. She clutched the cold metal of the rifle more tightly and whipped her head this way and that, ready to attack if something sprung out of the terrible silence. Her long hair, the color of lavender and ashes, whirled behind her in the darkness like a comet's tail.

At the shock of the first incision, her rifle tumbled unused to the ground.

o()o

Renée awoke groggily, her whole body aching like she'd lost a fight. _Bad_. She tried to roll over on a mattress which—when she stopped to think about it—didn't feel much like her wool one. But movement was agony, so she settled gingerly onto her back again, gritting her teeth and waiting for the pain to subside. Bit by bit, she opened her eyes—well, her _eye_. Something was pressing down on the right side of her face, and nothing good was happening beneath it.

And, as she'd suspected, she sure as hell wasn't in her cabin. Everything she could see (which wasn't much, 'cause she was lying on her back with only one good eye) was steadily yellowish, and even though she couldn't see the source, she could swear that the light was from an incandescent lamp. Where _was_ she?

She groaned and tried to roll over again, more slowly this time. Pain flared up, just like before, but she was ready for it this time, and she persevered. When she'd gotten fully on her side, she could see more of the room, which looked like it could have been the bedroom of any house in Vinita. Gawd, had she gotten drunk and gone to bed with a stranger? That wouldn't account for the bruises, unless he was a particularly rough son of a bitch.

"Ah, you're awake. Welcome back, Miss Plainflower. How are you feeling?" The voice was male and unfamiliar, which only confirmed her suspicions.

"Where are we?" she asked with a groan. Her mouth felt strange, like the skin on either side of it was being stretched taut, and her voice came out as a low growl, though that may have been because her throat was so dry. She remembered... Nothing, really. A heap of images that she couldn't make heads nor tails of.

"You're in my sickroom, Miss Plainflower. I'm afraid you were attacked."

"What?" she exclaimed. "What happened ta me?"

"I don't know for sure," the unfamiliar man replied, staying infuriatingly out of her field of vision. "I found you unconscious behind a building. You were cut up pretty badly. Do you remember how you ended up there?"

She tried to shake her head, but that hurt too, like she was rubbing against sandpaper instead of sheets. "No," she croaked. "Ah was in town gettin' supplies. That's as much as I remember." The man frowned. Renée couldn't see him, but she could _smell_ his expression somehow. She tried to look around for him, but the action was painful and pointless.

"Lie still. You're healing, and I don't want your wounds opening up again."

"Where the hell are ya?" she snapped. "Ah wouldn't have ta move around so damned much if ya'd just come where Ah kin see ya!"

He stepped into her severely restricted field of vision. It turned out he was a beautiful white man, with sun-yellow hair and sky-blue eyes. She hadn't been expecting that. Why would a pretty white fella take in someone like her?

The man must have seen the alarm on her face, because he held out his hands and said hastily, "Don't worry. I haven't done anything except treat your injuries." He was lying. Renée didn't know how, but she knew. "My name is Dr. Elliot Grant."

There were so many questions she wanted to ask him, but she settled for one in particular that was niggling at her. "How'd ya know my name?"

"While you were recuperating, I did some asking around. It wasn't difficult—or do you imagine that these parts are teeming with Comanche women living all by themselves?"

She didn't dignify that with a response, and she wasn't sure how she felt about this man knowing anything about her. But he had taken her in when he could have left her to die in the street, and—aside from that last snide comment—he had been nothing but clinically polite to her since she'd woken up. She tried to tell herself that the fact that he was brain-numbingly handsome didn't play into her feelings at all.

o()o

As she recuperated—a weeks-long process that was terribly boring now that she was out of her coma—her mind was consumed more and more with the thought of getting back at whoever had done this to her. She didn't _know_ who had done it, of course, but that didn't matter. Eventually, once she got out of this damnable bed, she would find out, even if she had to rip all of Vinita apart to do it.

Dr. Grant was in and out as she recovered. He was never gone for more than a couple days, and he was almost always home at night. Renée wished she could say that it mattered much whether he was there or not, but that would have been a lie. For all his extreme beauty, Renée increasingly found herself growing resentful of the doc. He was nearly unfailingly polite, but his refined manner was distancing. Every so often, she'd catch a flash of sarcasm or passion in his voice, but he always suppressed it quickly. She wished he wouldn't: _that_ Dr. Grant sounded like someone who'd be much more interesting to talk to.

One thing she did like about his absences, though, was that they gave her an opportunity to get out of bed. Moving still hurt pretty bad, and since she never knew how long Grant would be gone, she couldn't risk any long excursions unless she wanted to chance being caught. Mostly, she just practiced walking, which hurt like the dickens, but which she'd have to get used to again sooner or later. The carpet in Grant's house must have been much thicker than she was used to, because, despite the clumsy stiffness with which she moved, her footfalls seemed whisper-quiet.

It took three days of dedicated searching whenever Grant stepped out, but she eventually found the clothes that she'd been wearing when she was attacked. They were in even worse shape than she herself was, little more than rags. The queer thing was, though, that they were cut up very cleanly, like someone really _had_ wanted to use them for cleaning their windows. They smelled overwhelmingly of blood, so much so that she couldn't bring them close enough to examine them without her eyes watering.

Renée was shocked to find her rifle laying beneath the clothes. The hell kinda mugger left a perfectly good gun behind? Well, however it had gotten here, Renée was powerful glad to see it. Once she got her strength back, she was of a mind to track down whoever'd done this to her. She was itching to try it out, to make sure she hadn't lost her knack after being laid up, but she couldn't exactly shoot it off in the doctor's house.

Although she was in a back room, Renée heard the front door open, and she froze. After a moment of motionless silence, she put the rifle and the remains of her clothes back where she had found them as quickly and quietly as she could manage. On silent feet, she eased the door open, hoping that she could make it back to her bed before Grant came back to check on her. She hadn't actually heard him come any further in.

And yet as soon as the door was open a crack, there he was. He grabbed the door out of her surprised hands and flung it wide open.

"What are you doing up?" he demanded. Renée drew herself up to her full height and looked down at him. The doctor was a scary sumbitch when he was angry, but Renée was determined not to let herself be cowed.

"It's about time Ah got back ta walkin'," she said, trying not to sound defensive. "Ah'm not gonna recuperate if Ah'm stuck in bed." Keeping up her proud posture hurt, but not as bad as she'd expected. Maybe she really was recovering. Her voice, even though she was feeling much better, was still a low rasp, as though the inside of her throat had been cut up too. She figured that in this particular circumstance it made her sound stronger, but Dr. Grant just looked her up and down as though she was a fish wriggling on the end of his line.

"I reckon you're right, Ms. Plainflower," he replied. "You're looking much better, and if you have the energy to go snooping 'round my house, it would be foolish of me to keep you confined to a sickbed." He paused, and for a second, Renée thought she'd managed to win a discussion with the doctor. "_However_, I will not have you overexerting yourself. As such, I'll be overseeing your physical recovery as long as you remain in my care."

"And what makes ya think that Ah need ta stay in yer care?" she growled. There was something about the way Grant talked that rankled her. She could _feel_ the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she bristled, peeved. When she stared at him, he stared right back. Shit, he was pretty. Eventually, Renée had to look away from the intense blueness of his eyes.

"I saved your life, Ms. Plainflower, and as such, I am unwilling to watch you throw it away because you were too reckless to heal properly. Now, if you're ready, I think we should see how well you've recovered. Here, take these."

He picked up a parcel off a nearby table and thrust it into her arms. She mutely tore off the wrappings, revealing a pair of Colts—clunky, old-looking ones.

"The hell're these for?"

"I don't know how you were with a gun before, but if you want to have any hope of tracking down the man who attacked you, you're going to need to learn to adjust for that eye." Involuntarily, one of Renée's hands moved up to the patch on the right side of her face. The eye had been unsalvageable, the doctor had said. While she hadn't really noticed much of a difference in her vision, she'd been stuck indoors, and there wasn't much to see in Grant's little house.

She hadn't dared to find out what she looked like now. There were blank spots on the walls where mirrors might have hung at one point, but the doctor must've gotten rid of 'em. Well, that was fine with Renée; she'd even been careful not to catch her reflection in windows. The doctor'd said she healed well, but she could still feel the sting of her injuries whenever she moved to fast: lines of pain across her skin like she was a fancy doll, cracking to pieces. She imagined she looked a fright.

Before all of this, she'd always known she was pretty for a woman her height, but it had never mattered. She didn't want to work in a dance hall or brothel, though she could have made good money doing either. And the men of the town were boors, crude and ugly and not worth her time even if she trusted white men to treat her as an equal. No, she'd never really thought about how she looked. But that didn't mean she was willing to start thinking of herself as the scarred, one-eyed hag she was.

"Ah'm not gonna have any chance of findin' him, anyhow," she said. "Ah told ya, Ah don't remember nothin' about who attacked me." Grant's eyes brightened, sparkling like springs in the desert. He looked as animated as Renée had ever seen him.

"Actually," he said, "I've been doing some research on that, and I think I know who attacked you."

"And?" Renée prompted, and immediately hated herself for it. Grant was clearly pausing just to get a reaction out of her, and for a moment, she felt like smacking him with a pistol handle. But he sounded so excited, so..._genuine_ that she couldn't resent him too much.

"His name is Xiàn Bǐng. He is a doctor, or at least he was back in China. I, ah, I had heard of other incidents like your attack, but I had somewhat dismissed Xiàn Bǐng as a folk tale until I started looking into what happened to you. Apparently there was a suspicious-looking Celestial medicine seller in town the week you were attacked."

Renée hugged the pistols to her chest, excited by the prospect of finding the bastard who cut her up. "D'ya know how ta find him?"

Grant shook his head. "No, but I'm working on it. It will be at least another fortnight before you're strong enough to do any serious traveling, plus however long it takes you to re-learn to shoot."

o()o

In point of fact, Renée was surprised at how quickly she re-learned gunplay. She had never used a pistol before, and the old dragoons Grant had given her had a bit of a kick to them, but she familiarized herself with them right quick, and soon, to her continuing astonishment, she was a better shot—with her rifle as well as the revolvers—than she'd been back when she had two good eyes.

When Grant came out to observe her progress, as he did whenever he didn't have other duties to attend to, she resolved to bring it up.

"Did ya somehow make me a better shot when ya were sewin' me up?" she asked, hoping that it sounded like a joke. But he frowned.

"That was not a side effect I had foreseen, no." The doctor sounded stiff as a corpse, and he smelled absurdly nervous. That, in turn, made Renée feel like her own skin was trying to crawl away. Grant had opened up a bit over the past weeks, but he was always very sure of himself, almost to an annoying degree.

"What do ya mean?" she barked. "What'd ya do that there would be side effects?"

"Put the gun down first." Renée had been working with her rifle, which wouldn't be much use at this range, but she clutched it tighter to her nonetheless. If Grant was worried that she'd shoot him after he said his piece, well, she wanted to be able to shoot him. "I mean it, Renée. If you want to know what happened to you, put that rifle down."

His eyes got bluer when he was angry, Renée reckoned. Right now, they leached all the color out of the sky. She set her gun down on the dusty ground and held up her hands.

"All right. Ah'm unarmed. What'd ya do ta me?" The doctor broke eye contact, something she wasn't used to. Usually, she was the one who had to look away.

"When I found you, you had lost a lot of blood, and I couldn't round up a human donor in time. The only sample I had available was..." Renée stiffened. She still hated Grant's habit of dramatic pauses. "from a timber wolf."

"Ya put _animal blood_ in me?" Renée snarled. Grant had been right to make her drop her gun. She wouldn't have shot him, but she couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't have cracked him across the head with it. Instead, she slapped him hard across the face.

He crumpled under the blow, raising a cloud of reddish dust as he hit the ground. Renée's anger drained away enough to be worried about him. She reached down to help him up, but he waved her off and picked himself up, brushing the dust from his trousers with one hand and rubbing his cheek with the other.

"It was either that or let you die," he replied bitterly. Renée could see an angry pink handprint beginning to form where she had hit him. "I made the right choice. Besides, the introduction of lupine blood seems to have improved your accuracy. You have nothing to be upset about, Ms. Plainflower."

Renée's mind flashed to the other things that she'd noticed since getting attacked, wondering if, say, her improved sense of smell was due to the strange blood in her veins.

"Ya made the right choice," she said finally. "But ya could've told me as much when Ah first woke up." And damned if she was going to apologize for hitting him. Grant could think whatever he wanted about how she should feel, but that was a hell of a thing to drop on someone.

An uncomfortable silence descended before Dr. Grant cleared his throat. "The reason I came out here, actually, is because I have a lead on Xiàn Bǐng. Apparently, he's out in New Mexico Territory, a couple days' ride from here."

"That's not much of a help," Renée said. "New Mexico's a big place. How do ya propose we go about findin' this Xiàn Bǐng in the great big desert?"

"Ah, well, he went out there via the new railroad, not two days ago. That leaves a very small number of places where he could reasonably have gotten to."

"Are we gonna go out there on the train?" Fear gripped her at the mere thought. How could she go out in public, looking like she did, let alone get on a train, where she'd be trapped for days with people who would surely look at her as a freak?

"I don't want him to know we're coming for him, and if we took the train, it's possible that someone could inform him of our intent. No, I reckon we're going to have to travel overland. Can you ride a horse?"

"Of course," she said. Really, of the two of them, Grant was the one who didn't look like he could ride. He had the air of a man used to carriages.

"Wonderful. We'll set out tomorrow. Is there anything you need before then? I won't be able to bring a full set of medical tools with me."

Renée took a deep breath. She didn't want to do this, but it was now or never. "Do you have a mirror?" Whatever Grant had been expecting her to say, that wasn't it. He froze, and she didn't need her superlative sense of smell to tell that she'd shocked him.

"I'm not sure that's a good—"

"I need to know what I look like before I let people see me, Dr. Grant," she said, hating how much it sounded like begging. "Please, just give me a mirror." He considered her for a moment before nodding and leading her back to his house. The mirror was hidden in the back of the pantry, with its reflective side turned toward the wall. Grant handed it over, reluctantly, with its back still turned.

Renée found herself holding her breath and closing her eye as she turned the mirror over. She had to force herself to look. As soon as she opened her eye, she wanted to snap it shut and never look again. But if she couldn't look at herself now, she reckoned, she'd never get up the sand to do it. So she kept staring at the horrible thing in the mirror.

Her hair was the same purpley-gray it had always been, true, but Xiàn Bǐng must have cut it off when he was cutting her up, because it was much shorter than it should have been and uneven besides. Her skin had started to regain its color in the time she'd spent practicing shooting, but she still looked ashen and unwell. The worst part, though, were the scars, livid pale lines that crisscrossed her face like cracks in an old road.

If she squinted, she could still see the beautiful woman she had been, but that only made the reality worse. She had to stop herself from smashing the mirror in disgust. Grant came up behind her, and, irrationally, her hands flew to cover her face. He'd seen her, of course—and she didn't want to think about how much worse she would look without his ministrations—but now that she knew the extent of the damage, she felt a terrible need to hide her shame. He was so beautiful; she didn't deserve to exist in the same world as him.

Gently, he took her hands in his and lowered them. She tried to twist away, but he wrestled both of her wrists into one hand and used the other to grasp her chin and turn her face back to his.

"Look at me," Grant commanded, and she couldn't look away from his hard blue eyes. "Listen to me: This is not your fault, Renée. You can't think that this reflects on you—you were attacked by a madman, and you were strong enough to live through it. That's all. Scars are a damn sight better than being dead."

"But _look_ at me!" she moaned, too devastated to muster a more complex response.

"I am," he responded. He was, too—staring at her so hard that it was uncomfortable, as though his gaze was a physical force. "And I see a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman." He let go of her chin and hands and kissed her hard.


	2. Death Itself

**Shadows West**

**Chapter 2: Death Itself, and the Smell of Gunsmoke**

Thanks to the folks who reviewed the first chapter! I hope you all will like this one just as much. I would have had this out a week ago, but I hit a bad case of writer's block in the middle of a scene that doesn't appear in the finished chapter.

It's probably for the best that I cut it, because this chapter is already absurdly long by my standards. The one place where the contest rules chafed me was in forcing this to be a two-shot. I'm a fan of shortish chapters, so if I had it my way, this fic would probably have been four chapters instead of two.

I've found a troubling power differential between Ryou and the Mews in most of my fics that feature him. Without spoiling anything, I think I can say that this fic was written partly as an attempt to deal with that issue in a conscious way.

And, y'know, partly because Westerns are awesome.

**Cultural and Historical Notes (which you're once again free to skip):** All the travel times in this story were derived from Google Maps, which does not have a "horse" option nor any way to travel overland, so the length of the journey should be considered pretty darn approximate. Fort Supply and the JA Ranch are both real places, as is Camp Nichols, though no contemporary photos of the place exist, so I fabricated its layout—not that it matters, since nowadays the fort is just ruins. Lamy, New Mexico is also real: it was the actual terminus of its branch of the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad at the time when this fic takes place. "Squaw" is an offensive term for a Native American woman—so please don't use it in real life! This chapter required much more research than the last one, and as such, there's a much higher probability that I got something wrong. If you see a factual error, please let me know!

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Renee/Zakuro, Grant/Ryou, or Xiàn Bǐng/Pai, but there are minor characters in this chapter who don't have anything to do with TMM. The chapter title is derived from a quote (originally) from DC's _Weird Western Tales_ #26, by Michael Fleischer.

* * *

After the kiss, Renee didn't see Grant again until the next morning, which gave her plenty of time to ponder what exactly it had meant. He'd left the mirror, but she didn't have any desire to look in it again. It was sweet of him to try and comfort her (that _must_ have been what he was trying to do), but she knew what she looked like. She could do without his pity.

When she awoke the next day, she dressed herself in clothes that had been laid out for her, and was pleased to find a brown bandana and wide-brimmed hat among the usual accoutrements. They wouldn't totally hide her face, but they'd do a good enough job covering it up that she shouldn't scare folks away.

She tied the bandana around her neck and slipped her feet into the boots that she'd come to think of as hers, even though her own boots probably hadn't survived the attack. While she was putting on the hat, it suddenly hit her just how much Dr. Grant had done for her. The clothes were her own, mostly, but he was the one who'd taken a trip to her remote cabin to collect her things, not to mention feeding and boarding her, and helping her track down the devil who'd hurt her in the first place.

And he'd never so much as mentioned payment. Perhaps he really had fallen in love with her. At any rate, she couldn't dwell on it. They had to get going quick; any delay gave Xiàn Bǐng that much more time to slip away. Dr. Grant, who didn't seem to need any sleep as far as Renee could tell, had packed and saddled a pair of horses. When he saw Renee, he wordlessly led one of them over to her, then went back to tend to his own mount as though he had nothing to say to Renee.

"Thanks," she said to his retreating back, wishing that he had never kissed her. Judging by how awkward he was being this morning—and Dr. Grant was, in Renee's experience, _never_ awkward—he was wishing the same thing.

The horse, a stout bay mare, eyed her warily and tried to shy away. Renee did _not _have the patience to deal with any shenanigans this morning, so she hopped into the saddle too quickly for the horse to realize what was going on until she was already on top of it. She could feel the animal beginning to panic under her, but in her current dark mood, Renee didn't care if the thing exhausted itself trying to get away from her.

Grant seemed to care, though. When he saw what was going on, he rushed over and began trying to calm the horse down. "Damn, I should have considered this," he said as he stroked its velvety nose. "She can smell your wolf blood, Renee. I don't think you'll be able to ride her."

"What does that mean? Ah have ta walk all the way?" she said petulantly. To her own very sensitive ears, she sounded like a spoiled child, but she didn't care. How _dare_ he kiss her and tell her she was beautiful, and then just ignore her like he didn't even know her?

"You'll have to start out that way, at least," he replied. "When you get tired, I'll figure out something else, but your horse was liable to keel over from fear."

After shifting their provisions around so that Renee's vacant horse was carrying most of the equipment, Grant started off, with Renee plodding along beside him. Despite herself, she was impressed that a city boy like him was able to ride a horse _and _lead another one without visible trouble, even if they _were_ only moving at a walk.

o()o

Most of the morning passed in silence. Dr. Grant occasionally expounded upon some interesting bit of terrain or flora, but Renee didn't contribute much to those discussions, partially because she wasn't nearly as well-versed in the natural sciences as he was, but mostly because she wasn't willing to make small talk under the circumstances.

The land was beautiful, even if she wasn't willing to admit as much to Grant. By now, spring had begun in earnest, and the trees were budding, covering dark branches with little new-green points of life. It seemed like every time she crested another winding hill, she was confronted with some lovely new vista.

"How are you holding up?" Grant asked her when they stopped for dinner in a copse of trees.

"Ah'm fine," she replied curtly, and it was true. Somehow, she felt as fresh as when she'd first woken up, though she'd been walking all morning. "Ah could most likely go faster, if ya want me to." Grant eyed her, and she resisted the urge to pull her bandana up over her nose.

"That's fascinating," he said.

"Oh, is _that_ all it is?" Renee growled, her scarred mouth curving into a snarl. "Ah'm glad ya find me such an interestin' curiosity."

"What's all this about, Renee?" Grant asked. "You've been acting sullen all morning, and frankly, you haven't exactly been a joy to travel with." Renee's mind boggled. Could he really not know what he'd done?

"Ya _kissed_ me last night," she said slowly, as though she was explaining the situation to a child. "And then this mornin', ya act like nothin' happened. Ah think Ah'm perfectly justified gettin' mad about that."

He looked at her speechlessly for a moment, with an expression like a child watching a wounded raccoon.

"You didn't seem pleased about the kiss. I thought it best I didn't press the issue, lest I make you uncomfortable," he explained stiffly. "Did I read the situation incorrectly?" He sounded more flustered than Renee had ever heard him, and a blush had risen like the summer sun in his sculpted cheeks. Her brain sputtered, unsure how she could even begin to explain what an idiot he was.

So instead of explaining, she bent down and kissed him, just the way he had kissed her the night before. When they broke apart, he went back to looking at her silently.

"If yer worried about me, ya should try _askin'_ me about it rather than pullin' some damnfool stunt like pretending nothin' happened."

Grant smiled dazzlingly, and all of a sudden his composure was back like it had never faltered. She grinned back at him, relieved that the weird tension was broken, then turned to go load the horses back up.

"Renee?" She turned around when she heard her name.

"Yeah?"

"I wasn't being condescending last night. You really are beautiful." Now it was her turn to blush hotly.

o()o

For five days, Renee and Grant rode and walked toward New Mexico Territory. The forests Renee grew up around gradually fell away as they headed west, replaced by dry scrublands. Paradoxically, the sky grew darker and darker above them, as though they were bringing the storm along with them. They were near the territory border when the weather finally broke. The sky flashed and roared after hanging low and ominous for days, and the rain lashed human and horse alike. Renee was soon soaked clear through, and felt like she was drowning with the scrubby bushes.

"There's supposed to be an old fort around here somewhere," Grant shouted over the storm. Renee shuddered, and it wasn't because of the weather. A couple days back, they'd stopped at Fort Supply. It was the first time Renee had been forced to spend time around people other than Grant since she had her accident, and just thinking about the looks the soldiers gave her made her fists clench, nails digging into her skin.

"Can we make it that far?" she yelled back. "It might be better ta go ta ground somewhere 'round here."

"I was planning to spend the night there anyhow," he replied, "and we're close. If we keep heading northwest on this bearing, we should be there presently. Tell me if you see anything: Camp Nichols has been abandoned for more than a decade, but I think the outer wall, at least, is still around." She didn't know how he was managing to read his compass in the torrential rain, nor how he knew about some abandoned fort in the middle of nowhere.

"Can yer horse manage a gallop? Ah'm eager ta get outta the storm." She ran off, straight ahead, and she could just hear the faster hoofbeats as Grant spurred the horses on. They caught up with her in a few moments, but even when the horses were at a full gallop, she found that she could keep up with very little trouble.

Camp Nichols wasn't visible until they were almost on top of it. Renee skidded to a halt, sending up a wave of mud as she narrowly avoided hitting the stone walls. The rain was playing havoc with her senses; when everything smelled like rain (with the occasional ozone tang of lightning), she had to rely on her treacherous eyesight. Grant fared a little better with the horses, though perhaps only in that they were more used to stopping abruptly than she was.

The fort's outer wall was indeed mostly intact, though it was a matter of moments before they found a section that had crumbled enough that they could clamber through. They emerged into a narrow building of some sort; the roof was, thank goodness, in good condition, though the hole they'd climbed through let in enough of the elements to make the structure useful for little more than sheltering the horses, and after Grant tethered them and gave them their feedbags, he and Renee went through the doorless doorway into the fort's interior.

They were immediately accosted by the storm once more; the walls and buildings that made up what remained of the fort surrounded an open central courtyard, small enough that the two of them could make out the shape of the opposite wall.

Curiously, one doorway on the other side of the fort was brighter than the others, lit by something other than lightning. After a shared glance, Renee and Grant made their way over to it. If Renee could have pulled her hat down further than it already was, she would have, but she was willing to let other people see her if it meant she could get out of this goddamned rain. Besides, she rationalized, she was so covered in mud that it would be hard for anyone to see what she looked like, anyhow.

Three men sat around a small fire, their heads swiveled when Grant and Renee entered.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Grant said after politely clearing his throat. "My companion and I are seeking shelter from the tempest. Would you allow us to share your fire?" The men looked them up and down; Renee shrank back from their gazes. They looked more like humanoid aggregations of mud than real people—though she couldn't imagine that she looked much better. She had a change of clothes back in the saddlebags, but if she put them on while the storm was still raging, she'd only ruin them, too.

"Shore," the fattest of the three said. "Move over, boys, make some room fer our new friends." Renee and Grant sat down gratefully.

"Where are you gentlemen bound?" Grant asked convivially.

"We're passin' down ta Texas, heard the JA was hirin'. Yuh know it?" When Grant shook his head, the man continued: "Big ranch southeast a' here. How 'bout you folks?"

"We're heading out to Santa Fe," he replied.

"Shit, really?" one of the other men interrupted, laughing. "Why didn't y'all take the railway? Coulda saved yerselves a mess a' trouble."

"Railway tickets are expensive," Grant said, with a sheepishness that Renee recognized as false. But after riding through the storm, even she wouldn't have been able to tell that his clothes were all fine, expensive-looking things, so she doubted that the strangers could tell that he was lying.

"Ah hear yuh," the second man said with another hearty chuckle. "Shit, y'all kin take off yer hats, since you'll be here fer a spell." Grant doffed his hat and then set it on his lap, and Renee, after a moment of reluctance, did the same. Her hair, which she'd shoved up into her hat when the rain got bad, tumbled down like dirt and flowers. Immediately, the mood of the room changed. She could see the men's eyes widen, white saucers in their grimy faces, and _smell_ their renewed interest in what was formerly just an uncommunicative lump in a coat.

The third man, the one who had yet to speak, stood up and started to move toward her. She bolted to her feet, but the room was small, and he was in her face by the time she was upright.

"What've we got here?" he asked. To Renee's enhanced senses, his breath was nauseating, a mixture of trail food, tobacco juice, and alcohol. He gripped her chin, turning her face this way and that like she was a horse he was thinking of buying.

"Git yer hands off me," she growled, and he must have heard something in her hoarse voice that he didn't see in her face, because his dirty lips split into a surprisingly straight-toothed grin.

"A squaw, hunh?" he said, squeezing her chin more tightly. "Didn't expect ta see one a' y'all so far off a reservation, but don't yuh worry. Me an' the boys'll take good care a' yuh." She slapped his arm away; he hissed and grabbed his wrist with his other hand.

"If any of ya lay another finger on me, ya won't live ta regret it," Renee said in tones of steel. They'd be in for an unpleasant surprise if they tried to rape her anyhow, since her nethers were cut up worse than her face, but she had no intention of letting things progress this far.

"Yer too ugly ta be so picky, bitch," the fat one spat, but before he could take a step toward her, there was a soft click as Grant leveled a revolver at the man's gut.

"The lady told you to leave her alone," he said levelly, as though he was talking about a particularly routine surgery. "And as a doctor, I must advise that it would be best for your health if you did as she said." The fat man put his hands up slowly, eyes trained on Grant's sixgun. When a shot rang out, his hands flew to his belly, but it was Grant who dropped to one knee with a grunt of pain.

The other man, who had been standing unnoticed in the corner, leveled his revolver for another shot. At that moment, Renee sprang, pushing the man before her aside as she leapt for the man with the gun. His shot went wild, and before he could shoot again, she knocked the pistol out of his hand. Her own guns were holstered at her sides, covered by oiled leather to protect them from the rain.

She didn't even think about them. The gunman fell beneath her claws, and she whirled back to face the man who had dared to touch her. He'd fallen in the fire, and one of his arms was badly burnt—the smell of scorched flesh was almost overpowering, but it was matched by the stink of fear. He fumbled for his gun, but could only use his off hand. Renee got to him before he even managed to get it out of the holster.

The fat man had drawn a pair of sixguns, but he seemed unsure of where to aim; his terrified eyes darted between the wounded Grant, the bloody Renee, and his own fallen companions, and his arm wavered just as indecisively. Renee couldn't let him have enough time to decide to finish Grant off, so, remembering that she was a civilized woman, she drew a pistol and shot him twice in the chest. He tottered for a moment before he fell, seemingly unsure of what had happened. When she couldn't hear his heart any more, she rushed over to Grant, who had shrugged off his coat and rolled up his shirt and was now examining the wound in his side.

"I'm fine," he said before she could ask. "The bullet just grazed me. We need to get out of here." And indeed, instead of a hole, Grant's side was marred by an angry, elongated oval, but it was still bleeding a hell of a lot more than Renee was comfortable with.

"Like hell," she said. "We're not goin' anywhere 'til ya get a bandage on that. Ya'd bleed out fer sure in the rain. Yer doctorin' stuff is in yer saddlebags, right?"

"Yes," he said, pressing his hand hard against the wound and gritting his teeth. "The bandages should be on the left." Renee hurried through the stormy courtyard, dug through Grant's saddlebags until she found a roll of bandages, and rushed back, stuffing the bandages under her coat to keep them dry.

With Grant instructing her, she managed to wrap his wound to his satisfaction. Once she was reassured that he was going to be fine, she surveyed the damage to the three men. They were all dead, obviously, but she was surprised at the way she'd torn two of them up—they honestly looked like they'd been killed by a wild animal, not a human woman. Well, maybe she wasn't quite all human, then.

"Well, that got out of hand," Grant said drily.

"We didn't start it," Renee grunted. "But it was right sweet of ya ta come ta my defense like that—even though Ah could've handled them."

"I'm sure you could have. You did end up saving me, ultimately. But you don't deserve to be insulted by the likes of them. It would have been ungentlemanly of me _not _to stand up for you."

"Yer such a gentleman," she said, and kissed him ungently. He tasted of sweat and earth. She imagined that she tasted of blood.

o()o

They left soon after—they had to. Killing men who'd threatened Renee and shot Grant was one thing, but they'd have a hell of a time explaining the way the bodies looked if anyone else stumbled onto the fort.

Outside, the rain still pounded the reddish-brown earth. By the time it let up, they'd come across the railroad, curving down into New Mexico Territory. Grant lit a bull's-eye lantern from the saddlebags, and they travelled down the rails at a canter, covering their light and scarpering whenever a train came past. It was a couple day's travel to Lamy, but having the railroad to guide them made Renee feel like they were right on Xiàn Bǐng's doorstep.

o()o

Lamy was just a train station and a handful of other buildings, constructed variously of wood and pale clay. Renee felt a little bit like she was made out of clay, too, from the way the other night's mud had dried on her. They hadn't had an opportunity to clean up, since they'd been avoiding the towns sprinkled along the railway, and right now, Renee was weighing the benefits of checking into the town's hotel for a proper wash or heading out to find Xiàn Bǐng right away. Luckily, Grant made the decision for her.

"I need to consult with the locals, see if they've noticed anything untoward over the past couple weeks. I get the feeling your presence would only make people nervous—" she was about to protest, but he added, "—you must admit that you cut an intimidating figure, darling. If you'd like, you can go wash up."

Grant, who had been atop a horse for most of the storm, was considerably less muddy than she was, and moreover, he didn't look nearly as gross as Renee felt. He was, in fact, downright presentable.

"That'd be great. Ah'll meet ya at the bar in an hour?"

"All right. I'll see you then."

After she grabbed a cake of soap and a clean cloth out of the saddlebags, Renee headed for the bar. It wasn't quite evening, so the place was mostly empty, but the barman's eyes barely flickered as she walked in.

"'Scuse me," she said, approaching the bar. "Do ya have a pump or somethin' I can use ta clean up?"

"Got caught in the storm, eh?" the barman said, still not giving her more than the most cursory of glances. "Shore thing. Pump's out back."

"Much obliged."

There wasn't a ton she could do in public, but she lathered up the cloth in cold spigot water and scrubbed her face, neck, and arms. She made a cursory effort to clean her clothes, but they were too far gone for soap and water to have much of an effect. Without all the grime on her face, the extent of her disfigurement was evident, but she realized that she didn't want to pull her filthy kerchief back on. So she walked back into the bar with her face uncovered and pulled up a stool.

"What'll yuh have?"

"Tequila."

He poured her a shot and set it in front of her. When he saw her face, he froze for a moment, but regained his composure with admirable speed and wandered back over to where he was polishing glasses. Renee nursed her drink as she sat in silence. The barman wasn't a talkative type, and that suited Renee fine.

Grant came in a drink later, and waved her over to a table away from the bar and the other patrons.

"What'd ya find out?" she whispered once they sat down.

"He's here," Grant replied simply. "A man fitting his description set up shop a few miles out of town. We can go tonight, if you'd like." Renee grinned ferally. She was so close to getting revenge on the man who'd ruined her life that she could _smell_ it.

"Thanks, Grant," she said, leaning over and pecking him on the cheek. "Fer everything. There's no way in hell Ah woulda made it here if not fer ya."

"You say that like I'm not coming with you."

"Ain't ya? Ah mean, this ain't yer fight."

"What do you mean, it's not my fight?" His voice rose to a loud whisper. "This monster hurt you. If this is your fight, it's damn well my fight too."

"That means a lot ta me," she replied after a moment. "Let's get outta here."

The only lights in Lamy came from the bar and the rail station, but the fat gibbous moon gave enough light to see by. Grant retrieved one of the horses, and Renee filled up both the canteens with cold water from the pump out behind the bar. She also pocketed the extra kerosene and a book of matches, just in case. Then they were off.

o()o

Renee had travelled for days to get this far, but the three or four miles between Lamy proper and Xiàn Bǐng's hideout felt as long as the rest of the journey combined. She kept checking and re-checking her pistols in their holsters, because she couldn't be too sure.

Xiàn Bǐng's place was a beacon in the desert, lit up and visible from a ways away. When Renee got closer, she saw that the glow from the little wooden shack was too steady to be anything but incandescent lamps like the kind Grant had.

Grant left his horse behind for the last quarter-mile or so, taking only his pistol, his canteen, and Renee's rifle slung across his back. The landscape they crossed quietly was deserted, without even the usual animals creeping around to avoid the heat of the day. When they were close enough, the bright lights inside, coupled with the relatively dim night, gave them a clear view inside through a glass window that looked out of place on such a ramshackle building.

In direct opposition to its outward appearance, the inside of Xiàn Bǐng's hideout was furnished in gunmetal gray, and the man himself stood at a metal table, doing something that involved the mixing of various liquids. Renee didn't recognize him—she hadn't seen him that night, after all—but the mere sight of him made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand up in warning. She motioned for Grant to hand over the rifle, which he did. It wasn't hard to sight him along the line of the barrel, but Renee hesitated before taking the shot.

"What's wrong?" Grant whispered.

"This don't feel right," Renee said. "Ah want the sumbitch ta know who it was that killed him."

"I don't want you to put yourself in any unnecessary danger!"

She thrust the rifle back into his hands. "Then stay back here and cover me. Ah don't think Ah'll have any trouble, but if things get rough, shoot 'im." Seeing her expression, Grant nodded, and aimed the rifle back at the brightly-lit shack.

Renee snuck down closer, doing her best to stay out of the light that blared through the cracks in the walls. Soon, she was pressed up against the side of the building, right next to the door. She took a deep breath, readied her revolvers, and busted through the surprisingly fragile door.

In person, Xiàn Bǐng was a tall, thin celestial, with slicked-back hair that was, oddly, nearly the same color Renee's was. He also seemed entirely nonplussed that a woman had broken into his home brandishing guns.

"Can I help you?" he said coolly. His accent was closer to Grant's high-bred New England manner of speaking than any Celestial Renee had ever known.

"Ya've done quite enough fer me. Keep yer hands where Ah can see 'em," she snarled. Xiàn Bǐng had been reaching for something under the table, but at Renee's command, he raised both his hands over his head, smiling.

"Ahh, yes, I remember you now. The indigenous woman, yes? From back in Oklahoma? I must say that I did not expect to see you again, miss, though I admit that you were a fascinating study. I so rarely get access to indigenous American subjects. What brings you here?"

He was surprisingly convivial for a man who attacked women in the dark, but Renee was having none of it. "Ah'm Renee Plainflower," she said, "and Ah just wanted ya ta know who it was that sent ya ta hell."

Xiàn Bǐng ducked and rolled at the same moment she pulled the trigger, and somehow, he managed to get out of the way of the bullet, which shattered some mysterious piece of glassware behind her. When the Celestial came up again, he tossed a handful of something into the air, some weird dust that burned into her senses of sight and smell. "It was a mistake to leave you alive the first time," he intoned from what he probably thought was a safely concealed place. "But don't worry, I will rectify it presently."

Well, the joke was on him: she could hear every thump of his heart and creak of his bones as he tried to move around her and out the door. She made a grand show of looking around blindly for him, but as she was leveling one of her pistols to shoot him through the heart, there was a bang and the sound of glass shattering. That damn fool Grant must have thought she was really in trouble and wanted to protect her, but it was hard to appreciate his nobility when the unexpected noise stunned her for a moment.

During that moment, Xiàn Bǐng crashed into her at waist height, sending both of them sprawling out of the shack. He was incredibly strong for a regular human, but once the stinging smoke had cleared from Renee's eye and nose, he didn't have a chance. She rolled them over so that she was on top and reared up, keeping his legs and one of his arms pinned between her knees. Once she grabbed his other hand with one of hers, leaving him helpless, she saw fear blossom in his eyes for the first time, and she smiled.

She'd dreamed about this moment, nearly every day when she was coalescing back in Vinita, and in every fantasy, she'd had something witty to say at this moment, some snide little remark that would haunt him even in the grave. Now, faced with the real thing, she was satisfied that her ruined face, grinning and triumphant, was the last thing he would ever see. Her sixguns had fallen away somewhere, but they didn't matter. It was the work of a moment to free up both her hands by wrestling his arm down between her knees. Then, with a satisfying crack, she snapped his neck.

Renee stood up shakily and stared down at the body. It was still bleeding sluggishly in places, but the heartbeat was gone. Xiàn Bǐng was gone.

She heard Grant stumbling toward her and turned to greet him, only to have him catch her in a tight, elated hug.

"I did it," she breathed, tears rolling from her one eye.

"I know, I know," Grant replied as he pressed feather-light kisses up and down the scars on her neck. "You were magnificent, Renee."

After a long, warm moment, she broke the embrace. "There's somethin' else Ah gotta do," she explained, going back into the shack. Along the way, she bent to pick up her pistols where they had fallen, and when she stood up, Grant was right behind her.

"Look at all this equipment," he said wonderingly once they were inside. Renee couldn't make sense of the stuff, but apparently it was impressive if one was a scientist-type. Grant dug through drawers, unearthing both loose and bound papers, which he laid on the sundry shelves and counters. "Look at these _notes!_ My God, that murdering psychopath was a genius! Why, I never imagined—What are you _doing?_" he said in something very like a wail when he saw Renee spreading kerosene around the shack."

"Ah'm burnin' this place down. Everythin' here was used ta harm people, and Ah don't want that ta ever happen again."

"You can't!" he exclaimed. "The sheer volume of scientific data that lunatic collected could—"

"Could what? Could make what happened ta me okay? Sorry, but ah don't think so." She lit a match, let it drop.

Grant salvaged as much as he could before the heat became unbearable. "I should kill you for what you just did," he said dolefully. "Xiàn Bǐng's research was famous, even if he was a madman, and now I'll never be able to make use of any of it. You were—this was my chance!"

"So that's it?" Renee snarled. "Ya came with me so ya could steal the _science_ that bastard did while he was cuttin' up girls? Is that why ya saved me? Just so ya could use me ta get ta some other doctor?" Grant quailed under her gaze; he was silent for a long moment while horror blossomed like cactus flowers in Renee's mind.

"Yes. If the experimental transfusion worked, I knew you would be of use to me." Fire flared in Renee's visible eye, and Grant flinched. "But I love you, Renee. I do. If you were still just a tool, I _would_ have killed you."

"Ah know," she said tiredly. "Ah love ya too."

She turned to leave.

"You would have died if I hadn't been there to patch you up after Xiàn Bǐng attacked you!" Grant cried. "You owe your _life_ to me! You don't just get to walk away from that!"

"Ah'm callin' it even, since the fact that ya saved me's the only reason Ah ain't killed ya either," she said without turning around. "But if ya want yer vengeance so bad, shoot away."

The desert, lit by the fat moon and the burning shack, was silent as she strode into the night.


End file.
